


Wizards In Oz

by merelyafigment, visionofblue (merelyafigment)



Series: Two Paths Diverged [5]
Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, I canon-diverge Ryan and Toby back into a weird almost friendship, M/M, You know for science, because I want to, contains no actual wizards, it turns out my slow burns are awkward and clunky, it's not that kind of canon divergence, let's all take note of the inmates libidinal levels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:23:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26893639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelyafigment/pseuds/merelyafigment, https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelyafigment/pseuds/visionofblue
Summary: Sister Peter Marie unexpectedly drags Tobias Beecher along on an errand to the hospital ward. Beecher has no idea why he's there, until he runs into an old acquaintance and starts to clue in. Miguel Alvarez is merely coincidentally on work detail, however, and misses all the clues. (Still set during the events of the episode "Ancient Tribes". I swear this series will move past that episode soon. Follows"Leprechauns and Other Myths")
Relationships: Miguel Alvarez/Tobias Beecher, Tobias Beecher & Ryan O'Reily
Series: Two Paths Diverged [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1898122
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Wizards In Oz

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Oz was full of bad language, homophobic and racist slurs and attitudes, misogyny, terrible attitudes towards many things really, bad deeds, etc. They were an offensive bunch, and this fic contains those offensive things. Miguel is also fairly insensitive about mental health issues this whole series.
> 
> Notes: Part of the reason this fic in the series took longer was due to being very unsure of my Beecher POV. I never felt like I had a great grasp of the character. Hopefully he's not too OOC, and there's some recognizable Beecher in there somewhere. Also -- I haven't changed O'Reily's diagnosis, Beecher's guess is merely incorrect. 
> 
> Rambling Note about the O'Reily and Beecher relationship here: this series isn't going to be O'Reily/Beecher. (I'm clearly a fan of them, and all three together, but this will not be morphing into Ryan/Tobias/Miguel before my intended endpoint for this series. Read whatever you want into the subtext, or don't, though.) But regardless, I was always annoyed by how the first half of season 2 sort of ended their previous connection and kept them apart more, without much of an onscreen explanation for the distance. (Though they were seen occasionally hanging out near each other in the background a bit later in the season.) Where their relationship is here, as opposed to where it was on the show for early Season 2, is in large part just me following my own fannish desire to not leave their past connection in the past like the show did, but also partially the butterfly effect from the divergence in this series. Miguel and Tobias having their weird friendship doesn't just change things between them. For one thing, I do not think in ["Balls, Found and Stolen"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26208163), Sister Pete left Alvarez waiting so long for his session because she was just super busy. She _may_ have realized they were talking outside her door, and let them continue by not coming out of her office, thinking it would be good for them. That also could have nestled in her subconscious, so that later when O'Reily is struggling with his possible breast cancer, Father Ray isn't the only one she can think of to talk to O'Reily and help him. She probably _wasn't_ purposefully eavesdropping on Miguel and Tobias, but they did mention O'Reily at the time as well. (Or you know, possibly I just want them to be friendly still and it's my sandbox here.)

Beecher was on an errand of some sort. In theory, anyway. Sister Peter Marie, striding purposefully right alongside him, had told him they were going to the hospital ward because she had business with Dr. Nathan, anyway. You were supposed to trust nuns, and all. Beecher was roped into this particular 'errand' to help tote a box of files. Of course. Made perfect sense. 

Except.

Despite being wee, Sister Peter Marie was perfectly capable of carrying this box. She probably could have carried it over her head while power-walking to the ward, in fact. _Though she be but little, she is fierce._

Beecher smiled when he thought of the word 'wee', naturally recalling a conversation he'd recently had with Alvarez. It wasn't a quiet internal smile either, because 'crazy Beecher' could get away with grinning wildly out of the blue. It was one of the few perks. The conversation itself had been long -- at times confusing, enlightening, and other things, like almost weirdly ...comforting, perhaps? Comfortable, definitely, even when it was awkward. Somehow, even when it was angry. _Comfortable_ was very rare for relationships in here, but... yeah. Maybe.

Beecher mainly recalled the _wee_ part of their talk at the moment. Or the partial subject of it, anyway -- Glynn's secretary and Miguel's encounter with her. In an unfortunately sudden fashion, Tobias's mind randomly supplied him with a brief image of Alvarez fucking Glynn's secretary on top of the warden's large desk. Miguel would be doing some much dirtier version of his rough flirty patter all the while, most likely. The unbidden mental image was strange and made him feel... strange. There really wasn't a better word for it. His train of thought ran an admittedly twisted and rusty track lately, so these things happened. He was lucky he didn't drop his box, or fall behind the pace of Sister Peter Marie. It was probably an extra wrong thought to have around a nun. (Even one he occasionally had extra wrong thoughts about.) Box dropping and stumbling wouldn't make him look scary, or unhinged, or anything helpful -- merely clumsy and absentminded. Nobody said 'oh no, stay away from the clumsy guy!' in here, that Beecher had heard.

The coupling hadn't happened, as far as Tobias knew, despite how much the other man had probably desired it. He truly doubted Miguel would've withheld that information or lied about it. Beecher let his mind follow the other related thought instead -- Glynn's wee blonde secretary wasn't really Tobias's type. And not just because she really had seemed quite nervous around him, though that hadn't helped. She _was_ Alvarez's type, he guessed. Beecher had never seen Miguel's girlfriend Maritza, so he couldn't compare. The most Alvarez had ever said about her, that wasn't related to the devastating loss of their child anyway, was that she was quite beautiful and sweet. Also that she'd gotten arrested with him, because she'd joined in beating the man Alvarez had been convicted of assaulting without even knowing why Miguel was attacking him. It didn't neccesarily seem that sweet to Beecher, but then he did sort of question Miguel's judgment when it came to what the man considered sweet. Did it show that Maritza was possibly unquestionably loyal, much like Miguel also seemed to be? Yes. But sweet? Apparently, taking his side without thought in an altercation qualified. Then again, Miguel also called himself sweet, so maybe that was just how he described people he was fond of. Or maybe that was the type of person he was fond of. Glynn's secretary could've possibly been sweet, if she hadn't seemed too timid and frightened of Beecher himself to dare interacting with him. She had probably been sweet to Alvarez. He wondered if Miguel thought of _him_ as sweet.

Beecher stopped the meandering, free-associating twisting paths of his thoughts again as they neared the hospital ward. Errand. He was pondering his supposed errand. It was hard to get a handle on his mind these days, since letting it run wild was actually weirdly helpful for survival in here. A sort of savage imagination, a freedom of thought and deed, had been required of him lately. (Plus, focusing and considering everything seriously was... not great and could get very dark.) The free-running thoughts and actions thing wasn't always great for what was left of his sanity either, though.

Back to decoding the mystery errand -- there was also the fact that he'd been assigned to work detail with the Good Sister for quite some time now, and while she did consult and meet with Dr. Nathan on occasion, she'd never had Beecher _tag along_ to the ward with her for one of these consultations. (They also appeared to be friends, which may have accounted for some of the frequency of their interactions.) Just as often as Peter Marie went to Nathan, the doctor came to the nun's office. Either way, Tobias was usually not involved at all. Sister Pete had also been able to easily shut down any questions he had about why she even needed to bring her box of files and head to the ward in the first place, because of confidentiality and such. 

The nun was crafty, and made of steel, so she could occasionally be hard to read, but Beecher could tell she brought him with her for a reason. He just couldn't figure out what it was.

He idly wondered if this was what dogs being lured into the car for an unfortunate trip to the vet felt like.

Thankfully, it seemed that he wasn't being taken to be fixed, since upon their arrival the Sister took her Important Box and dismissively told Beecher to sit and stay while she went into Dr. Nathan's little doctor cage for their chat.

He knew she hadn't needed him to carry that box. She'd also left him suddenly and randomly in a spot in the middle of the hospital ward. Right next to a patient's bed.

Most people in Oz would say O'Reily never looked very happy (other than occasionally wicked schadenfreude), rather always appearing serious, or sarcastic, or dangerously watchful. Thus his current irritated look wasn't anything out of the ordinary, and could have meant nothing. Tobias was one of the few people, if he had to guess, that had seen the man completely at ease and carefree, so he wouldn't have agreed with that assessment. (Granted, Ryan had been very, very high those times, and so had he.) But he was aware, unlike most, that O'Reily had moods other than charming, mocking, threatening, calculating, observant, and 'oops, my sworn enemy died while I was innocently playing cards, however did that happen?'

Beecher perched on the hospital bed next to Ryan's without being invited. He found doing what he wanted, when he wanted to, without his old cautious hesitancy, helped with his whole new him. Respect for basic social norms hadn't gotten him very far in here, after all.

"What do you want, Beecher?" O'Reily sounded irritated, as well, but his tone wasn't packing enough of a warning to make Tobias actually leave yet.

"Now is that any way to greet an old chum, O'Reily?" Beecher started out lilting and less serious, but he was watching the other man carefully.

"You're chum, all right." O'Reily's scoff held a bit more edge than was customary with Tobias, really. It was still far less than O'Reily sliced into everyone else with, though.

Beecher was starting to get a better picture of why he was here. O'Reily may have been hiding it well, but he was unusually tense and defensive. Nobody else may have noticed, because O'Reily tended towards being a harsh and wary man. (When he wasn't trying to manipulate someone like a puppet. Then he really relied on his charm, capable of being downright polite, deferential even, when the situation warranted it.) But Beecher had on rare occasion seen the man without _any_ of his sharp defensive edges, after all, and he had always been rather more relaxed around Tobias, anyway. Even when they weren't high. 

They hadn't been around each other as much since the riot, each being quite busy attending to their own goals. Beecher had been unleashing a fair amount of pent up rage, as well as strategically pushing everyone to a safe distance with the judicious use of shouting, snapping jaws, violence, and nursery rhymes. Meanwhile, O'Reily had seemingly been concerned with gathering a small gang and gaining a sturdier foothold in the hierarchy. Plus, while they were both presumably staying clean, Beecher had felt it best to put some distance between him and his dealer (and possibly more importantly, the person he let go and used with) while he was gaining _his_ sturdier hold on sobriety. 

But Tobias remembered. Seeing hidden sides to Ryan O'Reily wasn't something you forgot. (Nor was being sort of aided and comforted by him, however twisted and drug-riddled it was.) Of all people, Beecher could tell -- something was definitely up with Ryan. Of course, being in the hospital ward was a fairly big clue in and of itself, especially since he'd been there overnight.

"I'm pretty sure the ones' that bite are the sharks." Beecher mused before following the urge to snap his teeth decisively, letting his legs swing idly as he faced Ryan from the other hospital bed. "The Nazis are the chum."

That drew a low chuckle out of O'Reily, but it too was strained. "You don't look too injured there, pal. Why are you here?" The familiar narrowed gaze examined him, and Tobias did not shrink away. "They finally getting around to testing how fucking crazy you are? If that's the case, it looks like I'll have company. Pretty sure that'll take awhile."

Speaking of, why _was_ O'Reily here? He also looked just fine and dandy. No visible signs that pointed to an obvious ailment, and even the Oz rumor mill knew nothing. There had been whispers of something about blood in the gym, but that meant very little. That gym had seen a lot of blood.

Tobias was now fairly sure he had figured out that wily nun's plan. She appeared to want someone to talk to O'Reily, for whatever reason. Rather than buck against it, just because he could, he decided to go along. Not for her, although he didn't generally feel particularly contrary with Peter Marie most of the time, but because _he_ wanted to talk to Ryan O'Reily and figure out why the man was here, what was making him bristle more than his norm.

"Alas, our dear Sister has not yet surrendered trying to conquer my mind herself. I'm merely here with her on her errand." Beecher decided to distract with flowery speech, since he preferred not to let his seriousness and curiosity show too much. With O'Reily, however, he was unlikely to be entirely successful. He tried anyway, because what was prison, but a place of futility? He knew better than to ask how long Ryan had been in that bed, or why he was there. Anything direct would be summarily shut down. "You seem bored. Shall we go a scenic stroll past the casualties of Oswald?"

"I'm bored? Yeah, you seem real busy there, Beech. Fine. Fuck all else to do. Least your ass is entertaining, even without the tits these days." O'Reily capitulated with sarcasm and a sigh, which was the best Beecher could have hoped for, truly.

Beecher spotted an abandoned wheelchair nearby and followed his whim, as was his wont lately. Why stroll when you could roll? Plus, it would make it seem less like they were having some sort of serious walk-and-talk conference on their respective health, mental or otherwise.

Tobias was met with a much sharper expression when he turned back towards O'Reily with his hands on the chair, however.

"Fuck you, Beecher. I can fucking walk." O'Reily was all snapping jaws and danger now.

Yes, something dire was clearly going on, if O'Reily felt the need to get that vehement in his clarification of his capabilities.

But it took more than that to get Beecher to back down, especially this days. Certainly in this case, when he could inwardly revel in the fact that O'Reily was _wrong_ in his assumption for once.

Beecher rolled his eyes with a grin, and hopped into the wheelchair by swinging himself over one arm to land in the seat with extra flair. "Who said it was for you?"

O'Reily's gaze flickered from narrowed menace to exasperation surprisingly easily, as he actually went along with it, shaking his head. He must've really been bored in here, or he needed a distraction. He was actually just wearing his normal clothes, rather than a hospital gown at the moment, so he would thankfully be able to walk without anything flapping in the breeze. Not that Tobias would have been subjected to it from the chair anyway, since Ryan hadn't moved in front of him.

Beecher's hands were on the wheels, but Ryan merely slid directly behind to push him with a huff of something that could have been amusement, or derision. Or possibly both. Apparently, he would be getting a surly Irish chauffeur today, and could relax into a more comfortable position in the chair.

Since he could no longer see Ryan behind him, he merely heard Ryan's suddenly flirtatious turn as a nurse passed them. "Hello, Leah, need any help?" 

Tobias would almost swear in court that he could _hear_ Ryan wink at the woman, just from his tone of voice.

She ignored O'Reily with an eyeroll of her own, because the nurse was someone Tobias could actually see. Yes, there was a little smirk there, too. Not of interest, but maybe amusement. O'Reily was clearly enjoying his infirmary stay at least a little, annoying any nurse in his path.

Beecher was enjoying his chariot ride, watching the beds pass by at a decent pace, not slow or unsteady. O'Reily continued to seem physically fine. He figured it would be best to see if O'Reily would possibly talk first, even as he knew it was highly likely to be a futile effort.

"Why are we doing this, Lawboy? Because maybe in that head of yours this is a carnival cruise, but it's just as fucking boring. I'm just bored in motion now." The voice from behind him did sound less harsh and spiky, finally relaxing into the tone Tobias was used to from Ryan.

"The view does leave something to be desired. You know, I've never been special enough to merit one of the private rooms here." Beecher mused as they passed someone in far too many casts. Their nose must really itch. 

Honestly, if he had any chance of Ryan letting anything show, he'd probably have to get him alone. Too many eyes and bodies around for O'Reily to drop his armor, if he ever would.

"Those are for the unlucky cocksuckers who are so fucked they need to be isolated or protected, Beech." Ryan explained. "Really, it's right where your crazy ass should always land." The words were harsh, but the tone was sliding back to Ryan's gruff playfulness.

Ryan was also pushing him towards one of those rooms now. They quieted their chatter to glide by more surreptitiously, and after they had both looked around to see a clear coast, Ryan slipped him right down the empty hall the rooms were down.

What do you know? The wheelchair had been helpful, most likely making them look less suspicious had they both just been walking around. Beecher would like to pretend he had consciously planned that, but sadly, if his whimsy were indeed that clever, it was subconscious in this case. Maybe deep down, said subconscious had been influenced by the old days spent closer to O'Reily's side.

After the door closed behind them, Ryan left him in the chair, coming around to hop onto the hospital bed in front of him. "What do you need, Lawboy?"

Beecher propped an elbow comfortably on each chair arm, and kicked his legs out between the little foot rests, crossing his feet at the ankles. He was settling in for a chat, even knowing it probably wouldn't be very enlightening. He had to try. Not for Sister Pete, or anyone else. _He_ wanted to aid Ryan, if he could. Because he could. He'd been following a fair amount of his darker urges lately, following this one more human twinge was probably due. Plus, he thought to amuse himself -- aid was possibly something Tobias could manage to offer without PCP and heroin, unlike the other man. "Who says I need anything?"

Ryan gave him a look, but he too seemed comfortable at the moment, even with his eyebrow raised judgmentally like that. "Why else would you want privacy? If you wanted to confess your love for me, I'm going to have to pass."

Tobias snorted, and it was maybe a little derisive, too. But he was pleased that at least they were talking, and it felt like it had used to, really. Merely less fogged. "If I didn't do it when I was high, I'm probably not going to do it now." 

"Shit you say when you're high doesn't count." Ryan explained with a fluid shrug, before ending their strangely friendly banter to get down to business, apparently. "Besides, I heard you stirred up a fucking hornet's nest for kicks. You coming to me for help?" Ryan's voice was hard, but it wasn't all barbed wire keeping him out like it could've been. And the query about what Beecher needed had sounded genuine, almost, because Ryan hadn't sounded disinterested. Of course, it was possible O'Reily merely thought he'd fallen off the wagon (or would that be the dragon, in this case?) and was seeking a score. It didn't seem like that, though. 

"I'm pretty busy to be dealing with your shit, too, Beecher." Ryan seemed almost regretful beneath the continued harshness. Tobias could tell by the way Ryan was still talking to him, for one thing, rather than blowing him off. He hadn't been too busy to wheel Tobias in here, because he'd thought Beecher was going to ask for help, after all.

Ryan hadn't been in the hospital ward during Beecher's false-assasination disappearance. He'd been in Emcity to watch it play out. Tobias got the strange sense that maybe, just maybe, Ryan was the tiniest bit concerned about all that. Or possibly not. Ryan's motivations were always murky, even when Beecher was close enough to read him better than some. And they hadn't been that close lately, despite it feeling like they could fall right back into it now.

"Why would I need help when recent events went exactly as I planned?" Beecher asked only as a way to show that everything was fine with him. Well, as fine as it ever would be, which was miles from fine, really. But he'd survived his enemy's attempt on his life, which he himself had orchestrated.

Ryan merely scoffed, kicking his leg out idly as he spoke. His boot just barely brushed Beecher's resting feet. "Yeah, I know all about your batshit plan. You fucking lunatic."

Of course, Ryan O'Reily had figured it out, Beecher's entire manipulative scheme to enrage Vern into pissing away his chance at parole by gaining some shiny new attempted murder charges.

"Why am I not surprised you know what I was up to? In another life, you could've made a great lawyer, O'Reily. You'd be one of the best, shadiest criminal defense attorneys to ever grace the corrupt courtrooms of this fine country." Tobias truly meant it, even with the slight sardonic twist he gave the contemplation.

Ryan's expression showed he agreed with that assessment, and still strongly disagreed with Tobias' previous course of action. "I would've been better than you. It was a shit plan, Beecher. You pissed off a Nazi and trapped him with you forever."

Why did everyone think he was blind? This, he knew. It just hadn't mattered. The danger hadn't stopped him. He couldn't let any of the danger stop him anymore, really, or he'd be dead or still licking boots. Why should this particular dangerous downside have been the exception that held him back? Because it had been about his fiery wrath and not protecting himself? How could he have held it in, even if he had wanted to?

"Jesus! Why can nobody understand my brilliance?" Beecher's gesture was wild, beseeching the ceiling, voice almost ragged with it. How could he have held this in anymore when he had a chance to make Schillinger squirm and consign him to rot?

Of course he fucking knew. The part of him that wasn't twisted and viciously angry was well aware that it wasn't the wise choice. But it had been the only choice. He had to make Vern suffer, even at the cost of himself. He was in so much more danger now, yes. And yet, he still just didn't care. Maybe he was crazy. Maybe he wasn't crazy enough.

"Because the brilliance is fucking nonexistent, asshole." Ryan's eyes narrowed in careful assessment again, but it was the man's most mild version of that particular gaze. He was merely personally curious, without ulterior motive, if Tobias had to guess. "Who else have you been discussing it with, or have you just been prancing around Emcity yelling about it?"

"You'll be happy to know Hill and Alvarez agree with you." Beecher informed him, hand idle playing over the grip on the wheelchair's wheel. It was not well taken care of, scuffed and without sheen.

Well, Hill definitely agreed with O'Reily. Alvarez sort of did. But in the end Alvarez also _understood_. Miguel had said as much, but Tobias had also seen it in the other man -- the bone deep understanding of the burning frustration, rage, and bitterness inside. Had it been Alvarez, he probably would've just killed Vern, but since Beecher couldn't do that... Alvarez may be worried about Beecher's ruthless enemy being kept in the prison with him rather than shoved out of it, but he understood why Beecher had been driven to do it.

O'Reily clearly did not.

"Why would that make me happy?" O'Reily did indeed not seem happy at all, and was also still making it quite apparent that he thought Beecher's behavior was incredibly idiotic. "Shows you how stupid your plan was, if even those two realize it." Ryan pointed out dismissively, before something changed in his demeanor. Ryan's posture relaxed, and he was no longer giving an annoyed lecture. He was observing Beecher. Casually. Head cocked, hands loosely held together between long legs that had stilled. Oh, this couldn't be good. "You still hanging around with Miguel Alvarez?"

Tobias realized playing dumb now, despite how stupid Ryan thought his plans for Vern were, would most likely fail spectacularly. It didn't stop him from trying. It was mostly because he knew it would keep Ryan talking, but there was a little niggle. A small urge telling him to keep Alvarez out of O'Reily's mind as much as possible. To protect him, maybe. Catching O'Reily's attention didn't always work out well for people, after all. Despite the fact that it sort of had for Beecher himself, albeit in a very messed up way. Tobias was pretty sure he wouldn't have made it through those early days without Ryan's drugs, and Ryan's side to lean against in tucked away corners where he could escape and breath, in the palm of God's hand if only for a moment. He also probably wouldn't have been capable of breaking free without the PCP, either, even if he'd tried. It had been a hell of a comedown, though. "Since when have I ever hung around Alvarez?"

Nope. Didn't work at all. Ryan merely stared him down. It was less intense than O'Reily's usual stare, and surprisingly nonthreatening, but he was also clearly a man who was not at all buying what Tobias was selling. Might be a little amused by the sales pitch, though, given his brief almost eye-roll.

"Maybe none of these dumbfucks notice now that we're back in Emcity, where the smaller village mingles more -- but you crossed paths in Unit B, too, Lawboy. I noticed." Those two words carried weight from Ryan, no matter how casually he said them. O'Reily noticed, and catalogued, a great many things others did not, but not for idle fun. Ryan's expression didn't change much, still watching Tobias's face, but the more serious turn he was taking was clear anyway. It was something in Ryan's low voice. "Be careful, Beecher. I've seen him watching you. He's kept an eye on you for awhile. He had no fucking reason to keep landing in your sight for a fucking _chat_ when we were in that much bigger shithole unit, and yet he _kept fucking doing it_."

So Ryan had noticed that, too. It was sort of funny, because Beecher was pretty sure _Alvarez_ hadn't even noticed he'd kept meandering over to Beecher every once in a while. Merely to talk. Sure, Beecher was fairly sure Alvarez was now aware that they were deliberately chatting on a somewhat more regular basis than the usual inter-inmate mingling which happened due to sheer boredom and close confinement. But it seemed to have taken him a while to admit it. Given that Miguel was in fact a smart man, Beecher may have occasionally wondered why Alvarez had been playing dumb, even seemingly with himself. Granted, it could have been merely that the leader of the Latinos hadn't wanted to admit that he enjoyed the occasional company of Oz's resident unaffiliated former-prag madman. But Tobias didn't think so, given that Miguel didn't seem to think that way. (Or treat him that way.)

If Tobias didn't know better, Ryan's concern almost sounded genuine. Irritated that Beecher wasn't taking him seriously, mayhaps, but real. In this case, Tobias maybe didn't know better, because he actually believed that to be the case. Showing the other man that possible concern meant anything to Tobias might just make O'Reily uncomfortable, though. So, he'd lightly fuck with him instead. Tobias was aware now, in a way he hadn't been when he'd been floating along in various hazes of false-escape by Ryan's side, that he was one of the few people in Oswald that could actually get away with doing that without it bothering the Irishman. Without O'Reily filing it away as an annoyance he merely put up with until he no longer had any use for that person.

"Aww, are you jealous, O'Reily?" Tobias was not suicidal, though (he didn't think), so it came out far less wheedling than it could have.

Tobias figured he had struck the right balance when Ryan merely scoffed again in mild (and not-entirely humorless) annoyance, lazily waving him off with one hand. "Nevermind. Enjoy being pragged by the loco Latino, man."

Whatever Alvarez was after, it wasn't a prag. Although, O'Reily's possible paranoia for him on that front was cute. Tobias knew by now that Miguel just genuinely liked to talk to people to pass the time. He'd even seen him talking to Rebadow every once in a while. In the beginning, when they first started talking during their sojourn in Unit B, Alvarez may have liked to talk to Beecher in particular because he was different, and Alvarez seemed to be a fairly inquisitive man. He also truly seemed to mean what he said about Beecher's new tactics and courage having made an impression on him. It was almost like Alvarez respected him, a little at least, and like that meant something important to the man. 

Surprisingly, the more they had talked over the many months, the less alone Beecher felt in certain things. And he was starting to pick up on the fact that Miguel seemed to feel the same way. At first glance, they had very little in common, but Tobias kept feeling the unexplainable, and quite frankly unexpected, points of connection between them. Not just their apparent mutual capacity for bitter self-destructive fury, either. Their strange humor and love of words, volleying them back and forth. Their buried pains and fear of being forgotten, as well, apparently. Their recent _wee_ conversation had not just encompassed tyrannical wardens and flirting with secretaries, after all.

Besides, if Alvarez was up to anything when it came to him, it would have been an unexpectedly long con for someone not entirely known for their patience and restraint. It'd been almost a year now since the aftermath of the riot, and while it wasn't like they were talking alone every day or even every week, Alvarez had still had plenty of chances to make a move. The younger man was most likely stronger, faster, and much more experienced when it came to fighting. He also wasn't afraid of Beecher, no matter what he did apparently, because he also saw Tobias a little better than most. 

Plus, Unit B had been a great place to mess with people, being considerably larger, more crowded, and less constantly observed than Emcity. But the only thing Miguel done was shoot the shit, make them both laugh, and occasionally open up about sensitive subjects such as his poor child. There was a fair amount of Miguel curiously poking around Beecher's sensitive subjects, of course, but he wasn't like O'Reily in that way, always gathering intel. He seemed to want to know just to _know_. 

Alvarez seemed to accept Beecher in his current state, and find him amusing, but also liked to amuse _him_. Their weird little occasional chats were small moments for Tobias, where he felt all his chaotic parts and hopeless wreckage fade away, or blend together, or just -- he didn't just hurt and rage and regret, for a brief period. He could breathe, and be himself. Possibly. Or let himself figure out whatever the fuck that was now, in the shared quiet moments. They'd also seemed to become somewhat more frequent lately.

And understanding aside, Miguel _had_ been worried about the dangerous aftermath of Beecher's plan for Schillinger. Well, it may have manifested as him being fairly pissed off at Beecher's supposed lack of foresight in regards to the consequences, but it was still clear. Alvarez _cared_ what happened to him. It stood out, because it was rare. Beecher had also been more honest with Alvarez about the whole thing than he had with Hill. He'd been more honest with _himself_ around Alvarez than Hill.

Beecher was pulled out of his thoughts by the light kick of Ryan's boot against his foot again, where Tobias' legs were still outstretched in front of him.

"You know, on second thought -- it would be pretty fucking amusing for someone as proud of his ass as Alvarez to get his dick bitten off. So, seriously -- go nuts, have fun." Ryan's amused grin was a sharp dangerous little thing, like a dagger small enough to be easily hidden. But, and maybe this was the insanity speaking, it made a matching grin blossom on Tobias's face in return. This was Ryan being relaxed, actually. Messing around, and also trying to make it clear he hadn't actually _meant_ what he'd said about Beecher being pragged again. 

Beecher gave a thoughtful little hum, observing O'Reily this time, as he was reminded of something. Miguel again, actually, and his lack of fear of Tobias and his teeth. "Are you scared of me?"

Ryan actually laughed that time, posture still loose where he sat on the hospital bed, the mysterious tension of earlier lessened. " _Nooo_. Why the hell would I be?"

O'Reily wasn't. Alvarez wasn't. Hill was, and that was comforting (and really amusing). Beecher felt a little bit torn in two again. Partially, he was annoyed. It wouldn't do to lose his reputation. To have someone see him as the old Beecher. He wasn't that man anymore. If he ever was, really, and it hadn't been a shoddily produced play he'd been part of his whole life until Oz, performing a role that wasn't truly him. That Beecher would've wanted Vern paroled, and far away from him. But he didn't. He wanted him suffering, right in his face where he could see it. Wanted it so badly, he didn't care how much pain it brought him later. But there was that little terrifying part of him that remembered being more human. Less a creature of hate and pain. That pesky part sort of liked that Alvarez and O'Reily saw that it still existed, that he wasn't just dick-biting Nazi-shitting crazy Beecher. Sure, he was that, too. It should have been quite alarming, all that he was capable of, and sometimes it was. Sometimes it wasn't. Even he wasn't entirely sure what this hell, and the things he had done to survive it, had turned him into. Or maybe just brought out of him.

Beecher threw his hands up to properly capture his dramatic lament. "Why is no one appropriately scared of my unpredictable violent ways?!"

Ryan was unfazed, and that was not at all surprising either. He was another rare person who let Beecher's more lost and wild behavior roll right off his thick confident skin. "Pretty sure everyone else is, Beech. They're real fond of their dicks. You did a good job rewriting your rep. I'm almost proud." The funny thing was, under the patented biting sarcasm, it sort of seemed like he was. "I'm the only one smart enough not to worry about you near mine."

Beecher smirked, returning to resting his elbows on the arms of the wheelchair. "Nope. Not as clever as you think, O'Reily. Alvarez isn't scared of me either."

A little of O'Reily's tension returned, as the man's lip briefly caught between his teeth, like he was going to worry it in thought, until he thought better of it instead and stopped himself. "Watch your back with Alvarez -- I mean it, Tobias. I can't fucking do it for you right now."

Beecher sat up straighter, focusing on Ryan's eyes. "You think I can't take of myself? I think I've proven otherwise."

Ryan's eyes which gave in to an exasperated roll this time, it turned out. "I thought your ass could before you even realized it, you motherfucking moron. But the only thing your latest absolute crap plan proves is that your survival instinct is suddenly on the fritz." Ryan sounded less dangerously perturbed, and more like, well, like a parent deeply frustrated with their clueless teenager's life choices.

Yes, it did indeed seem that perhaps Miguel wasn't the only one annoyed with him out of worry. Miguel's concern was merely more obvious, and less distracted by the million other things that probably took priority in O'Reily's busy mind.

Beecher recalled a conversation, many months ago, where Alvarez had pointed out that Ryan giving him the hellfire in his veins that was PCP, which had nearly destroyed Beecher as it tore through him, may have been an offering of the only help the man was capable of sparing at the time. Yes, there may have been ulterior motives, always, with O'Reily, but even over a year later -- Beecher could see none. O'Reily actually had had a hand in saving him, and it was highly likely that had been the man's intent. Even if he hadn't been overly invested in the outcome, he had at least given Tobias something resembling a helping hand.

O'Reily was always making moves, but they hadn't involved Tobias for a while. Even back when they may have, Ryan hadn't tried to puppet him into murdering his enemies or anything. In retrospect, yes, the drug dealer clearly had motives for getting him hooked on heroin. But O'Reily had also been snorting it right alongside him, so it probably hadn't been as cut and dry as just hooking some new clientele. And everyone had been looking for allies right before the riot, Ryan especially. Although it was hard to clearly see everything O'Reily had his fingerprints on, Beecher had a vague inkling of what happened to the people truly caught up in the Irishman's schemes, and he'd never done that with Beecher. He also seemed to carry the tiniest smidgeon of concern for Tobias at times, like now. Though with O'Reily, it was buried a lot deeper under the man's own concerns for himself.

Beecher really wanted to find out why Ryan was here in the hospital ward, defensive and brittle in a way Tobias was not used to seeing, and it had very little to do with wanting to shift the conversation away from his own shortcomings. Enough dancing, time to focus.

Beecher stared right into those cunning eyes, and let his own voice lose its edges, its hints of madness. He was just there, Tobias, concerned about one of the few people who had been there for him in here, no matter how long ago or how harshly Ryan's help had manifested. "What's going on, Ryan? If I had to guess, you're the reason Sister Peter Marie brought me along on her unexplained errand. Why did she want me to talk to you?"

O'Reily's expression closed off, but he at least didn't look _pissed_ off. Again, it was the best Beecher could hope for, really. "Mind your own business, Beecher."

Tobias tilted his head, soft grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, even as his gaze stayed steady and soberly sane. "That's funny, given that you were just poking around in mine."

"Well, that's because it's your business, and I can poke where I want to. This is my business, so back the hell off." Ryan brought out some of his bark, but although he was sitting up straighter, more focused now, he was still sitting there. He hadn't left.

Asking what was going on again, why he was in here, how he was doing -- none of that would get Tobias anywhere. There was only one thing he could think of to say that would maybe get through, that would carry the concern of all those unasked questions. The words O'Reily would possibly accept as a genuine offer of help.

"Do you need me to be your brother again, O'Reily?" Beecher meant it, no teasing or tricks, staying quiet and calm.

It was like Ryan's sigh deflated him a little, shoulders slumping the tiniest fraction, the angry facade cracking a little before just fading away. The fact that these cracks in Ryan's facade showed proved whatever it was was serious. "Nah, man. You look out for yourself, okay?"

The weariness in his voice set the worry more firmly in Beecher's bones. Something was very wrong, and no matter how much chaos was inside of Tobias over how many things, he did know he didn't like that at all. No joy in another's pain, here. The concern he would've carried a lifetime ago, when he was a man he couldn't even remember, was still capable of existing.

"Okay. But you know if you need it... I won't bite your dick off just for asking, Ryan." Beecher let the offer stand, in case Ryan changed his mind, lightening his tone at the end only a little since he still meant it.

Ryan's head twitched up to catch his gaze more sharply. "I'm definitely not doing that."

Beecher leaned back, to make the moment less heavy, less intimate, lest it make O'Reily defensive again. "You can ask, O'Reily. I mean it." Didn't stop showing the truth in his eyes, though, holding steady.

Ryan let out another small scoffing huff of laughter, lower and more weary as well. He sounded pretty adamant when he spoke, though. "I meant I'm not sticking my dick in your mouth, Beecher. Fucking ever." 

Well, that made Beecher sit right up again. Why did this keep happening? Why exactly did the only people he was sort of friendly with keep thinking he was pondering blowing them? (He knew this wasn't the case now, exactly, but this echo of Alvarez's misunderstanding was equal parts amusing and aggravating.)

"What?! No! There would definitely be biting if you did that." Beecher had his own hard narrow gaze, and he aimed it at Ryan for just long enough to make his point before tucking it back away behind annoyed bafflement. "Why does everyone think I'm offering--" Beecher cut himself off, hands up in a gesture that was half placating and half _keep your distance pal_. "I only meant ask for me to have your back, for help. That's all. Anything of that nature will be met with my sincere displeasure. And you've seen what that looks like."

Ryan relaxed again, and yes, the asshole looked a bit amused now, maybe. "Ahh. Just making sure we're clear. I got it, Tobias. I'm not asking for a brother right now." Ryan didn't say thank you for the offer, but Beecher figured Ryan probably wasn't the type to say thank you very often. He carried it in his tone, though, something serious and deep, as he held Beecher's gaze without artifice for a moment. Just a moment, before his expression screwed up into skeptical displeasure. "What did you mean 'offering'? Who the fuck thinks you're giving out free blowjobs?"

Ryan had been the only one Tobias had been comfortable being physically close to back in the day, for various reasons, including but not entirely limited to the fact that he'd been quite high. But it wasn't that sort of closeness, which was maybe why he'd allowed it for so long. There'd come a point when he'd recoiled even from O'Reily, though.

"You mean other than you, just now, also very incorrectly?" Beecher interrupted with a grin.

"I didn't think you were offering. I was just clarifying, asshole. You're the one that brought up dicks." Ryan casually flipped him the bird, but continued his thought. "You'd think the Brotherhood of Asswipes would've learned Robson's lesson." He seemed to tense almost imperceptibly again, a tightening around the eyes, in the slightly hardened tone, but it seemed to be for Beecher rather than directed at him this time.

"Nobody's messing with me on that count at the moment." Beecher assured him, since this unfortunate turn was regrettably Tobias's own fault. Again. "It was just a weird misunderstanding. I was being facetious, anyway. He didn't actually think I was offering him anything. I'm fine."

"Misunderstanding? Okay. Whatever you say, Beecher." O'Reily paused again for a moment. Never good. The man was never just letting his mind go blank as he pictured happy little trees. "Oh, Jesus -- was it Alvarez? For fuck's sake, Toby." He was clearly taking back his turn holding the exasperation stick, heavily sarcastic this time. "Yeah, you're fine. Nothing fucked up going on there."

Beecher raised an eyebrow. "Really? You just had a similar misunderstanding, and his reaction was even worse. I think I'm safe." 

Ryan was leaning forward again, disapproving again. Of course. "Alvarez ain't me, Beecher. What the hell did you say to _him_ , anyway?"

He felt the need to defend Miguel again for some reason. However awkward and strange the moment had been between them, when Tobias had admittedly thoughtlessly asked Miguel a rather misleading question he should have phrased differently, it hadn't really been Alvarez's fault. And yes, Miguel had reacted very poorly when he'd thought Beecher was saying something about Miguel's dick going near his mouth (he truly hadn't meant it that way), but his strong denial of the possibility was actually weirdly... comforting. Yes, whatever Miguel was seeking from hanging around him, forcing Tobias into a compromising position was not it.

"My business. No poking. That one may have been my fault." Beecher admitted, while still making it clear he wasn't elaborating further.

Ryan's observation returned, the man watching Tobias with tilted head and mildly musing words. "You got a thing for him or something?"

"No." Beecher issued the firm dismissal before rolling his eyes at Ryan's taunting theory. He really did not want to discuss Alvarez with O'Reily, because the man clearly didn't understand. Ryan may have understood a frightening amount about many things, but this for some reason he was clueless about. "Rest assured, I'm never hitting on anyone, ever. I'm just easily misunderstood."

"Yeah, well, that happens when you act batshit half the time. Maybe be careful how he misunderstands you." Ryan's last small warning was clearly his way of backing off and giving up.

Beecher turned his attention back to the reason he had clearly been brought here for, and the one it turned out he actually cared about. "And you be careful with... whatever you need to be careful with. Whatever it is, you're even more of survivor than I am. And look how well I'm doing." He cloaked his concern in humor again, but it wasn't very heavily covered. It still got through.

Ryan let out another low burst of laughter, but something around those always planning grey-green eyes looked less burdened and tense. Maybe it was just Beecher being stupidly hopeful, but he thought not.

"Why would I need your crazy-ass suicidal plans, anyway?" Ryan said, with barely any bite to his sarcasm at all now, as he hopped down from the bed to stand.

"Say what you will about my goals, O'Reily, but my method worked perfectly." Beecher pointed out, brandishing his last rusty little bit of pride in his scheme. Yes, it had been dangerous and reckless and a great many other bad things, but it had worked. It had made his mind feel sharp and powerful and dangerous. He liked that feeling. It should probably scare him how much. (It did sometimes. And sometimes it made him feel strong.)

"Yeah, yeah." Ryan did not sound genuine in his agreement, unsurprisingly, as he came to stand behind the wheelchair again. "Let's get out of here before someone thinks I'm trying to molest you." Beecher could hear Ryan pat the handles of the wheelchair as he took them, in what felt like a strangely friendly gesture. "Come on, ya crazy fuck."

Beecher dutifully put his feet back on the footrests. "I still wouldn't advise it, O'Reily. Hasn't ended well so far for anyone who has." It wasn't a warning at all, merely his own dark amusement with the vengeance he had wrought.

He heard Ryan's snort of pure humor this time, coming from right behind him, and they still weren't moving. Just talking. It was sort of like falling right back into an old connection as if nearly a year hadn't passed, really. It merely had new grooves and edges now that they were both sober and filled with more clarity. "I'm not the type, Beecher. You know that. I could've done whatever I fucking wanted to you when we were high." Ryan went quiet again, for just a moment, and Beecher didn't have to see his face to know that unfortunately, he was thinking again. Always. "You don't fucking know about Alvarez, so don't pretend you do. Just because he hasn't pragged anyone so far, doesn't mean he won't. That cocksucker's horny as fuck lately, haven't you noticed?"

But as clever and cunning as O'Reily was, and as well as he maybe knew Beecher, this was something Tobias knew more about. Nothing O'Reily could say would change that, so he let it roll off of _his_ now thicker skin. Besides, there was something more interesting to focus on here.

"I'm sorry. I'm going to need a moment to process the fact that you monitor our fellow inmates' libido levels."

"Not like that, you lunatic." Ryan's amusement with Tobias would probably always sound heavily laced with annoyance, but that didn't mean the man wasn't genuinely enjoying himself. Beecher knew that, as well. "Everyone's horny, all the fucking time. What, are you, new? Not what I meant. Ain't always about sex, anyway. Sometimes it's just about power-tripping bullshit. You know that, Beecher." Ryan didn't sound annoyed with him for that moment, instead going quiet and dark before carrying on. Always had to just pick up and carry on in here. It was either that, or toss yourself off the railing. It turned out neither of them were that type, despite Tobias' brief flirtation with it. He had failed in literally jumping off the Emcity railing when he'd tried, for one thing.

Ryan continued to lecture, but more like a professor this time, without pushing Beecher's wheelchair anywhere. Tobias wasn't even getting twitchy with Ryan standing behind him, but whether it was from the man's buried concern or not, he wasn't sure. "But it's never a bad idea to keep an eye out for which scumholes are just so fucking blue-balled and desperate they might start eyeing whatever ass crosses their path. I'm a handsome motherfucker, Beecher. You, not so much, but you should still watch out."

"Adebisi does seem to like staring at your ass." Beecher agreed easily, poking just a little, just enough to not anger Ryan. The way seemingly only he could. (Fine, the nurses and Dr. Nathan could probably brutally insult the man all day and he'd be fine with it, but that was entirely different.)

"I'm aware." Ryan merely agreed drolly. "You should be, too."

"He doesn't stare at mine that much anymore. And here I've been working out more and everything! Should I be offended?" Beecher had been too serious, for too long, possibly. It did get tiring. Couldn't focus on just how shitty everything was all the time, after all. Sometimes you had to laugh at it, no matter how bitter and hysterically unhinged that laughter was.

It turned out, Miguel was more tolerant of that particular philosophy of Beecher's than Ryan was.

"Take this seriously, asswipe. Quit with the act for five fucking seconds. It's wearing on my nerves." Ryan lightly swatted the back of his head.

"Ow." The deadpan protest was entirely fake. Even Beecher wasn't always sure what was an act and what was really him. Some unchained loose part of him that just wanted to tear through everything around him, because, really, he'd lost everything he had to lose. Did O'Reily truly know what was fake and what wasn't? Probably not for certain. But he was a damn good guesser.

"Alvarez's only fucking contributions to McDumbass's little gang council are him whining about conjugals and sex. He got dragged out of the warden's assembly for fantasizing about the librarian, Beecher. And she ain't a looker." Ryan rattled off the litany of evidence he had apparently compiled easily. "Plus, he was convinced you were fucking Whittlesey, wouldn't shut up about it, and that was not _my_ first thought. I heard he got his ass thrown in the hole for sniffing around Glynn's office girl. That mouth of his is running off to share his dirty fucking thoughts more than ever. All signs point to him having been locked up long enough to get really desperate."

Was that what Ryan's mind was like? Just an endless card catalog of information he'd gleaned on Oz and its inhabitants that he could thumb through when needed? Probably not entirely. Tobias knew, after all, that there was more to the man somewhere deep under the surface. Tobias didn't even know the man's other facets, really, but he did know they were there.

"Are you sure you aren't the one keeping an eye on Alvarez? Maybe he should watch his back." Tobias merely bandied back, playing dumb. All of Ryan's evidence, for once, paled in comparison to what Beecher had compiled without even trying. A few of Alvarez's facets, he actually did know.

"Shut the fuck up, Beecher. I keep an eye on everyone, all the time. Information is power. I know you know that." Ryan didn't sound too offended, and finally, finally they were moving. Ryan turned the wheelchair around to head towards the door, somehow turning in a tight circle fairly well, all strength and surety.

Beecher tried to turn his head to peer at Ryan behind him. It wasn't very effective, but it did get the general point across, he thought. "Should I be keeping an eye on your libido levels, O'Reily?"

So much for moving. The wheelchair halted dead again, with the smallest noise of strained rubber from the quick stop. Honestly, they would've had to anyway, since the door was still closed.

"Don't think I won't run your ass into a wall, Beecher. I'm not a fucking fag, chum." The first part may have packed the man's usual casual bite, but there was a deadly undercurrent to the last statement which Tobias hadn't heard Ryan direct at him in a very long time. 

He heeded the warning and backed away from that subject for now. Something was definitely going on with O'Reily, and it was definitely bad. Tobias continued to wonder why exactly Ryan was in the ward, and why Sister Pete clearly thought he needed someone to talk to. (Why she thought O'Reily would talk to anyone about anything, was a mystery for the universe to solve.) He looked physically fine, but he couldn't have been if they were keeping him here. They weren't really kind and considerate enough to offer free infirmary vacations that way.

HIV was still seen as a 'fag' disease in here, and maybe Ryan was bristling so strongly for a reason.

He really hoped he was wrong. Everyone else may have felt otherwise, but Beecher strongly preferred Ryan O'Reily among the living, and in Emcity with him. Sure, O'Reily was probably one of the most dangerous people in Oz, whether everyone realized just how dangerous or not, but it remained true that he'd been there for Tobias, in his own twisted way, when no one else had been. He would definitely let things lie for now, because he knew an O'Reily warning when he saw it now after having learned the hard way... but he wasn't going to ignore it forever.

"I know that. You just kindly pointed out that you could have had your way with me back when we bosom buddies. By bosoms I mean tits, of course." Beecher was trying to keep things joking and a wee bit crazy, but Ryan shot him another brief look at that as he moved in front of him to open the door. "I was more worried about you irritating the nurses so much with your wonderful charm and blarney that they'll smother you with a pillow while you're napping." Tobias doubled down on his efforts to smooth things over, and it seemed to have the desired effect. He caught a brief glimpse of another roll of Ryan's unsmiling Irish eyes before the man took up his spot behind Tobias to start pushing him again.

"Fuck off, Toby. Ladies love me." See? Must have worked. The rote insult sounded fairly friendly again.

"Where have I heard that before?" He couldn't keep the amusement out of his voice, even as he decided not to share where it came from with Ryan. Had to let the man be confused at least once in a while, after all. Tobias couldn't be entirely certain, but there was an eighty percent chance those were literally the same words Alvarez had said. 

The statements may have been the same, but they sounded different. Still self-assured from both men, yes. Ryan's may have been a bit more indignant, like he was maybe questioning Beecher's intelligence again for thinking women didn't find him desirable. Admittedly, they most likely did. O'Reily could wield his charm well when he felt like it, and he was indeed quite persuasive. Tobias also wasn't blind, even without glasses. (Those were mainly helpful for reading, and not at all helpful for anything in here when their usefulness was weighed against their detrimental effect on his image.) He realized Ryan was objectively fairly handsome, despite having no actual attraction to the man. A person could appreciate the beauty of a fine painting, or a particularly lovely old oak tree on a warm summer day without having lustful yearnings for either of those things, after all. 

Tobias had no interest in men even before he got a nightly lesson in how horrifying, disgusting, and repellent they could be. It was amazing he didn't spend all his time experimenting with shanks to cut everyone's dicks off in here, really. But thankfully, he didn't find everyone actively repugnant now. Sure, after he'd gotten clean and free of Schillinger, Tobias had twitched uncomfortably away from Ryan's constant casual closeness in a manner he hadn't when he'd been high, but he didn't want to hit the man or anything. It had been defensive caution to put distance between him and anyone at that point, as equally as it had been his visceral reaction in the aftermath of what he'd been through. He'd actually possibly been getting better about that, it seemed. Though it also appeared to be restricted to a select few. He'd been less physically standoffish with Ryan today, for one thing, with no problem. Alvarez, well, Alvarez tended not to get unusually close to him most of the time, anyway, but the few times he had, Beecher hadn't flinched or aggressively recoiled at all. It was a weird thing to be grateful for, not instinctively reacting like a kicked dog to proximity, or not having to do it purposefully to make a point either. But he sort of was relieved by it, just the same.

"Well, it wasn't the voices in your head you heard, because the ladies definitely don't love you." Yes, Ryan's insults were definitely companionable now, merely the man enjoying talking shit with someone he actually could enjoy it with, it seemed.

Miguel had said the most likely same words about being popular with the fairer sex with his own specific playful flavor, bringing out that teasing melodic quality to his voice. O'Reily didn't ever sound like that with Beecher, though he clearly had his own version he was using on the nurses. Miguel used his a little more indiscriminately overall, because he seemed to just enjoy his confidence with everyone, assured in his own desirability. As well as his own untouchability when it came to male attention, because his extreme lack of interest in that came through pretty clearly without being deliberately spoken as well. Miguel's occasionally used flirtatious tone was always a taunt, or pure cockiness, with men. Well, maybe with Beecher it just seemed like light teasing.

"Why does no one find me charming and attractive any more?" Beecher falsely opined with mocking indignation, as they rolled down the hall again. The last person who had found him attractive, well, Beecher had tasted his blood on his tongue and spit out his flesh. This was probably why he didn't feel like dwelling on serious matters at the moment -- thoughts like that. Tobias rolled right past it, like the slightly bumpy wheels of the not at all ship-shape wheelchair. "I used to be found mildly pleasant, at least! It's the biting thing, isn't it?"

"Or the shitting thing. Or your new drunk metalhead shaving routine." Ryan unhelpfully added, sounded very pleased at just how unhelpful he was being, actually.

Tobias was not without his own ammo on one of those points. O'Reily seemed to be trying his own new look, having grown out his hair. And he was keeping it that way, for some indiscernible reason. "Yeah, perhaps that last critique is a glass house you shouldn't throw stones at, me boyo. Are you merely forgetting to sign up for a haircut due to your busy schedule, or are you under the impression that you're Samson now?"

"Right into the wall, Beech. I swear." Ryan threatened, with a small hint of a swerve in their path and everything. It sounded less like a threat than anything the man ever said.

Tobias may have not gotten any information on what was going on, but perhaps he had helped a small amount, momentarily. Ryan's current demeanor was far more easy and relaxed than it had been when Tobias had arrived, anyway.

"And yet, you're still pushing me." Beecher posed it almost like a question he was asking the universe at large, gesturing with his outstretched hands.

"I'm bored." Ryan deadpanned, as they reached a larger section of the infirmary with its currently mostly empty beds.

Then Tobias thankfully didn't flinch at all as O'Reily leaned close to whisper sweet nothings in his ear. Well, it was a sarcastic taunt, but that was probably the way O'Reily showed he cared. "Here comes your boy-toy, right on schedule. I told you, Lawboy. Watch it."

Miguel Alvarez, wearing his scrubs and clearly back on his preferred work detail after being derailed by the warden, did indeed start towards them as soon as they caught his eye.

"Yo, Beecher. What the fuck happened to you now, man?" Alvarez sounded casual, and his body language was calm and loose, but his gaze -- yep, those dark eyes were actually scanning Beecher for injuries. Like there was concern hidden there.

Miguel's fluid body language shifted quickly, tensing a mere fraction to show off his lazy strength and power as he waved O'Reily away from Beecher's wheelchair. "Fuck off back to your bed, O'Reily. That ain't your fucking job."

They hadn't reached the section with Ryan's bed yet, so this would probably be Tobias's goodbye to the man for now. When Ryan entered Tobias's eye line again, his hands were held up mockingly in surrender. "If you're that eager to change his bedpan, Alvarez, have at it."

The fucker winked at Beecher as he left. Okay, he may have indeed had a point about Alvarez, at least as far as his unusual focus. But Beecher had noticed that a while ago. It wasn't an intriguing _new_ headline, just intriguing.

"Fuck off, O'Reily." Alvarez tossed off, not afraid to let his irritation show, before automatically moving behind Beecher to push his chair.

It was sort of... touching. 

"He messing with you? You should stay away from his snaky Mick ass. He don't need a shank to be fucking deadly." It was Miguel's turn for sweet nothings it seemed, but his sounded more angry. Also Alvarez wasn't quite as good at hiding his concern. "Seriously, what landed you in the ward, Bowie? I didn't hear anything about it and I should've, since I'm right fucking here."

One of the benefits to everyone thinking you were certifiable, and giving less than zero fucks about that, was that you could just laugh, long and loud, whenever the urge struck. It just added to your reputation.

Miguel stopped, and leaned around the chair to allow Beecher to see a bit of his face. "They give you the good drugs already, or is that just you doing you?"

He seemed amused.

Beecher was definitely amused. Two of the Emerald City's powerful wizards were both bristling with concern over the other's intentions with him. (Well, O'Reily wasn't bristling as much as he was offering angrily sarcastic warnings, but again -- that might actually be his version of concern.)

It was all far more insane than Tobias was.

It probably should set off alarm bells, the behavior from either of them. It did not. Not a peep. Granted, Tobias could admit he had the world's shittiest, rustiest alarm bells -- he had willingly followed Vern right to his own doom at first, after all. But he'd learned since then, in the worst ways that tended to help land the most permanent lessons. His bells were hopefully in better shape now. But Alvarez truly seemed a little concerned about him, just as he merely found Tobias's company enjoyable and interesting. Again -- should've rung all the bells. 

It kept stubbornly refusing to do so, though.

When Miguel had said he would've missed Tobias if Schillinger had managed to have him executed, Tobias had believed him. It had been clear that sentiment meant something important to the man, as well. Given Tobias's realization of how very short the list of people who would actually miss him at this point truly was, it had felt rather important to Tobias, too. He honestly hadn't thought anyone behind bars, who was actually living their life alongside him, was even on that list. He'd thought it was only a few who knew him outside, those remembering better days who had no idea who he was now. He had been wrong, evidently.

Also, while Alvarez may have enjoyed talking to people, learning things about himself and others, Tobias didn't really get the impression Alvarez was particularly _attached_ to many of them. Not enough to actively miss them if Oz chewed them up and buried them six feet deep. After all, he'd also heard Alvarez crow in public about other's misfortunes, or seem complimentary when someone made a statement with a dropped body. Plus, there was that time privately when Miguel had admitted to falling asleep during the observation of someone's last rites in the hospital ward. Miguel had mainly been focused on how annoyed Father Mukada and Dr. Nathan had been with him, and how it wasn't his fault the guy took so long to die. At the same time, Alvarez admitted to liking his work detail and enjoying being helpful, being useful. Being around people who cared. He was far more complicated than he seemed at first glance. Miguel wasn't a soft touch bleeding heart by any means, but he was fully capable of caring about people. It just seemed to be another fairly short list. Beecher hearing he was on it, even if possibly near the bottom in a more 'damn, I'll miss that crazy motherfucker when he's gone' way _did_ have meaning to Tobias, it turned out.

There was a little itch at the back of his brain that O'Reily might not have been entirely wrong about one thing, though. Some of Alvarez's comments, the places where _he_ bristled and got defensive, seemed to be hints of something buried inside, where even Miguel wasn't looking at it. Like the fact that, even to Beecher (who'd been doing any number of nonsensical things while lost in aggression, whimsy, and the destruction of his very sense of self), it seemed strange for Alvarez to remember what it felt like to touch him. As well as to seemingly be thrown by it when it became apparent that he did indeed recall the feeling of Beecher's mouth under his palm. Alvarez seemed pretty oblivious about all that, though, to an almost hilarious extent. Except Beecher wasn't laughing. There was something, something in his gut that he couldn't name or figure out. But it wasn't laughter. It wasn't fear, either.

Tobias had remembered what the strong but agile hand had felt like, too, it turned out. And it hadn't triggered nausea-inducing flashbacks to Schillinger, either. Not in the least. Neither did the low raspy voice, just now pouring that angry concern right into his ear, close enough to feel the warmth of the breath that carried it. That was what had reminded Tobias of the more perplexing part of their talk the other day. Hands and mouths, and Alvarez seemingly ignorant of his own feelings about both.

Possibly, Miguel wasn't alone in that confusion over what it meant, keeping Tobias company there, too.

An art exhibition had never made Tobias feel like this, admittedly. All the Van Gogh's and Monet's left in the world delivered to him, close enough to touch the thickness of the paint and the brushstrokes, wouldn't spark whatever that brief remembered feeling had been. No, also objectively handsome Alvarez was possibly not merely akin to a lovely painting or a beautiful day for Beecher anymore.

Best to step away from the Mona Lisa and her enigmatic little smile before the guards came after you for getting too close, though. Beecher wasn't sure who the guards would be in this scenario. The hacks? Alvarez? Beecher himself? He did know Alvarez probably would've preferred to be compared to some other painting, but it was merely the first one that came to Beecher's mind. Didn't remind him of the man at all, really. Maybe one of the ones of Saint Sebastian... Ah, well. Even Beecher's metaphors didn't entirely make sense anymore, swinging back and forth in meaning. Was Miguel Alvarez an objectively appreciated painting that made nothing stir, or was he something else...

Beecher pushed out of his chair with a spring in his step, spinning on his heel and throwing his arms out when he finished. "I'm fine, Alvarez. Perfect health!" Well, his body was fine, anyway.

No more thinking of paintings, or beauty, or why he'd noticed the warmth of Miguel's breath on his skin. The man was here, and Tobias could focus on the real person standing in front of him, not whatever was swirling inside his head.

Alvarez raised an eyebrow. That eyebrow clearly wanted an explanation for Tobias's healthy presence in the infirmary.

"Just here on an errand with Sister Pete. Wanted to take a spin with the Lord of the Dance, you know. Things get boring in here."

"Pendejo." Alvarez kicked the wheelchair towards him, and Tobias had to leap out of the way, laughing again. "Nun brought you on an errand? For what?"

See? Alvarez realized it was suspicious, as well. Whether that was because of how very obvious it was, or just due to Miguel's quick mind, it was hard to tell. O'Reily hadn't noted it, though. He was clearly troublingly distracted.

"Had to carry a box of files." Beecher delivered this information with his sagest nod.

"A fucking box?" Miguel's rhetorical question was filled with an understandable amount of disbelief. He sidled a little closer to lean in and offer his next words from behind his hand. "Yo, man -- you sure it ain't going down? Like you're supposed to meet her in a private room where there's a bed or something? I mean, if anybody could miss the signs, it'd be you."

Nobody conscious was near them, and even O'Reily was gone without a trace. Apparently, he wasn't concerned enough to hang around and eavesdrop.

"Firstly, I'm insulted that you think so little of my ability to pick up carnal-minded hints." Beecher let out his most annoyed sigh as he fetched his abandoned wheelchair, tucking it off to the side so it wouldn't impede any emergency movements. Afterwards, he decided to hop onto a nearby empty bed again, facing where Miguel stood in the aisle between rows of beds. "Secondly, Peter Marie has access to the old conjugal rooms. I doubt they've bothered to spend the money to clear them completely out and repurpose them, even now. There's probably still a bed somewhere. Why would she bring me here?"

Miguel smacked one hand to the other before smoothly shifting the motion into pointing assuredly at Tobias, his own version of an Eureka! moment. "Maybe she wants to double-team you with Doc Nathan."

"You really miss porn, don't you?" Tobias asked with faux-sympathy. Admittedly, Ryan had not been wrong about Miguel's dirty mind. He was merely incorrect in thinking that's all there was to the man at the moment.

"Fuck that, Bowie. I miss actual sex with actual women." When Miguel's words ended, his considering look didn't.

Tobias knew that look, he realized. The wide assessing gaze, the slight tilt to his head. Miguel was wondering about something, had a question poised on his tongue. But he was hesitating and holding it back, for some reason, just watching Beecher instead. That last part was new. Miguel didn't really seem to hold back very often around him, speech flowing more freely than even his usual, and he wasn't always a particularly shy person to begin with. Alvarez could be taciturn and withdrawn, yes, but he could just as easily swing back to being fairly chatty with random fellow inmates when the mood struck him, Tobias had noticed. Tobias himself had experienced both sides of Miguel, but the man did tend to seek him out during his talkative times. Still, even the few times he'd been more brooding, he tended to start talking around Tobias.

"What?" Tobias prompted.

Miguel just raised an eyebrow at him again with another clear query at Beecher's seeming non-sequitur. The man could have a very expressive face when it wasn't closed off like windowless stone walls, and he sometimes used it.

Huh. Apparently, Miguel was _not_ aware his face did that thing when he was brimming with curiosity, though. Beecher had to clarify. "I can tell you want to ask me something."

"How'd you know that?"

Beecher gestured vaguely at his own face. "Your face does a thing. Just ask."

Miguel casually waved him off, leaning against the end of a nearby empty hospital bed without sitting in it. "Nah. It's okay, man. It's nothing."

"Alvarez -- you once asked me what it was like to bite the tip of a man's dick off. How bad could this be?" Tobias queried, partially quite curious as to how it could be worse than that, but letting his tone convey the fact that Miguel should just give in and ask already.

Alvarez took a few steps closer, to make their conversation slightly more private, but did not take a similar seat. That may have just been to make any passing hacks or nurses think he wasn't sitting down on the job, though, considering that his casual settled posture facing Tobias indicated he was planning to stay and talk for awhile. "Was about your wife, hermano. I don't want to bring her up with that bullshit she pulled. Figured it'd be a sore subject."

"Well, you've already brought her up now, and made me curious. Please tell me you weren't going to ask permission to sleep with my ex-wife when you get out." Beecher's own eyebrow tugged up this time, as the thought was the first thing that struck him. It seemed like the sort of thing Miguel would ask first, considering it a polite required courtesy for a friend.

Miguel looked a little disgusted at the suggestion, and also sort of like he wanted to vehemently punctuate his displeasure by spitting. He refrained, though, despite Beecher being pretty sure he'd seen Miguel do the spitting thing before. "What? No! Wouldn't do that to you. Fuck that puta. I wouldn't touch her ass even if she begged."

Beecher knew the insult was Miguel's way of showing he was taking Tobias's side, so he didn't get too upset about it. It was sort of a nice gesture, for in here anyway, where most would merely make lewd comments about actually fucking her.

"Just, you know -- you two were still together before those assholes fucking got rid of conjugals right? You ever get any?" Miguel's hands were moving occasionally with his words, but not in any dirtily illustrative way. They were just following the flow of his speech, before one hand settled to rest in an idle contemplative stroke over Miguel's abdomen. Tobias had noticed that he did that a lot, and was probably one of the few people who could pull it off without looking strange. "I've been trying to tell fucking McManus they need to bring 'em back, but his council's a fucking joke, man."

"Yes, I did. Only once." Beecher answered matter-of-factly, and honestly. He tended to do that with Alvarez. Sure, it was fun to play with words and teasing, but he generally wasn't actually trying to hide or pretend with the other man. He'd never really felt the need, maybe. Or maybe it was that Alvarez had always been pretty straightforward with him, as well.

"Was it nice?"

 _Nice_ seemed like a odd word to use, but for one thing, Miguel was fully capable of packing a lot of dirty insinuation into his delivery of just one word. He succeeded admirably in this case. Plus, Tobias was pretty sure it was also Miguel's way of trying to not be too disrespectful, given that he thought Genevieve was a sore spot. She generally was, but Tobias wasn't really focused enough on her at the moment for thinking about it all to actually bother him much, denying her the future pleasure of Miguel's company aside.

"Not really." Tobias admitted with the weary shrug of one shoulder. "It was awkward and stilted, and very institutional. Although, part of the awkwardness may have been due to my new ass swastika."

"Ahh, shit." Alvarez let out the low exclamation apologetically, hand finally leaving its rest on his stomach. "See, Beecher? Shouldn't have fucking asked. Didn't mean to bring that shit back up, seriously."

Beecher leaned back a little on the hospital bed, legs stretching out a bit more. Alvarez wasn't quite close enough to impede him from doing so. "Oh, if only it were a Penthouse Letter-worthy tale I could regale you with." Beecher started with slight grandiosity, which brought out a mere flash of Miguel's amused grin before it fell away, but he ended by merely sounding normal. Like himself. Whoever that was. Maybe he was both. "It's fine."

Miguel gave a half-nod in acknowledgement that he hadn't irritated Tobias, before making a vague waving-off movement with one surprisingly graceful hand. "Nah, man, you don't need to tell me pretty stories or fucking -- Jesus, please don't ever spout those creepy nursery rhymes you do to fuck with people." Miguel shot him a look at that, which quite clearly illustrated how much he didn't care for those. But he ignored the sharp grin that Tobias couldn't keep from briefly alighting on his face at that news. "Giving me the true tale is good. I mean, the truth sucks. But it is what it is. Shit sucks in here. I'm sorry, hermano." The apology was casual, but not fake.

Beecher never had, actually. Done the nursery rhyme thing with Alvarez. Near him, directed at someone else most likely, but not _at_ him. People found it very off-putting and insane, to the point where they backed up and gave up on trying to talk to him, wondering just how far gone he was, and what he was capable of doing to them with his clearly broken mind. It was almost like a threat, a baring of teeth. A way to brandish his crazy reputation. It's why he did it. It's also why he'd never needed to do it to Miguel. Plus, it probably wouldn't work on the man. Beecher could practically see the mild head tilt and bemused grin Miguel would most likely give in response. "Why conjugals? You're not married. Even if they brought them back, you wouldn't get to make use of one."

"Could get married." Miguel gestured with his thoughts again, one arm arcing out to his side as if he was considering the possibilities. "It's important, man. Not just for me. Yeah, I really want to get laid, too. Fuck, that would be the best."

Near the end of that, Miguel accompanied his words with an obscene thrusting motion. It was... yeah, that was sort of what had come to Beecher's mind earlier, right down to the hands motioning like they were gripping someone's hips. It did paint quite a picture, given that it wasn't just a thrust, really, but a whole flowing, smoothly rocking hip movement, like he was actually riding someone. It was strangely fluid and graceful, along with being exceptionally dirty. Maritza might've been a very lucky woman, prison aside. Honestly, if Miguel moved as well in bed as he mimed, it probably would've been very nice for Genevieve, had permission to bed her been what Miguel had actually asked. Tobias was not feeling particularly charitable towards her at that moment though, despite fully understanding why she would want to distance herself from him most of the time. So. No nice thrusting things for her today.

Miguel sobered them both up pretty quickly, though, looking down and losing the dirty humor in his voice. "Don't know when I'm getting out. Don't know if I'll end up back here later, anyway. My Pop's is in here, forever. My Grandfather died in here. You know, I might get married one day. If I can manage it. Might qualify some day, if they would just fucking bring 'em back."

Well. That was bleak. It cut right through Beecher's personal pain, and made another dull ache somewhere inside. Just for Alvarez. Yes, Beecher was full of pain and rage and crushing regret and many other dark things, blossoming like bruises and scars inside of him. But this pain -- it was for Miguel, not himself. And things like that, other people's pain, had a harder time getting through all the rest of it now. He'd unfortunately become more selfish with his trauma, his focus on survival and need for revenge, his own crushing guilt and warring desire to punish himself. (He had a lot going on.) But here it was now, for Miguel, again. Beecher knew him a little now. Enough. Maybe better than most in here. Enough to want better for the man. To think Miguel _deserved_ better than that, definitely. This -- O'Reily didn't see this part of Miguel Alvarez. For all O'Reily did catch, how well he could read everyone, he didn't see this. Tobias didn't know how many people in here did. He figured Father Mukada and Sister Pete did. Maybe even McManus, given that he'd handpicked Alvarez to live in his pet project, which would've been hilarious -- that sad clueless fool seeing what clever O'Reily couldn't.

Beecher didn't really know how to help, though. Other than to try to show that he wanted to. In this case, with advice that probably wasn't very helpful, but it was all he had. Miguel probably didn't want a therapy session or commiseration in the middle of his work detail, after all. Tobias would have to tuck that away, for later. To keep in his mind in his interactions with the man. He didn't want Miguel to end up in here forever, and eventually, he'd hopefully have an opportunity to let the man know that he didn't deserve to. Beecher wanted Miguel to feel like Tobias felt that way, at least. 

For now, though... best to keep things light. He could tell Miguel didn't want to slip into those dark thoughts right now. Or you know, he probably wouldn't have done the obscene thrusting thing. Which Beecher could unfortunately not stop picturing for some reason, mixing with the images from earlier.

"You're up for parole sooner than I am, Miguel. Isn't Maritza still in Parker Women's anyway? You have time." Beecher pointed out, trying to not make that sound like a bad thing for once. He pondered as he advised. "Actually, stop thrusting at him, and tell McManus that last part. Emphasize how important it is to maintain connections for everyone in here, as well. That will better appeal to his bleeding heart and might be more likely to get him on your side."

"Who said I was thrusting at him?" Miguel also had a very good sly grin. Clearly, he had done exactly that at some point. "I'm a conjugal baby, you know? My sis, too. My Pop's was already in here before they made me. No more conjugals, no more me's. Shit, maybe that's why they axed 'em." He added, grin still there somewhat, but changing into something brittle and rueful.

Oh. Welcome to Oswald -- just when you think something is bleak, just dig a bit deeper and find even blacker crushing darkness. _Was it nice_ sort of took on a different, even sadder secondary meaning with that information. Given how lascivious Alvarez had made the word sound, it probably hadn't been at the forefront of Miguel's mind when he'd asked the question. But it had possibly influenced his word choice subconsciously. Maybe somewhere deep down, he wanted to know his conception hadn't been an awful experience, like everything else in here. Beecher partially wished he'd gussied up his honest answer a little now. Miguel did value the truth, though.

"Is that why you want to bring them back?"

Miguel shrugged casually, apparently staying breathing on the surface when he was with Beecher, instead of digging down into that darkness. "Nah. Mostly? It's the getting laid thing. I'm gonna use that on McManus, though. Good tip, Beech, thanks."

"Tobias! There you are." 

Oh, look, it was the good and honest Sister, who definitely wasn't up to anything at all. She was carrying her very important file box. Apparently, whatever was supposedly in it didn't need to be left here. What a surprise.

"We're heading back now." She strode up to him, still steely and mostly unreadable, plopping the box in his arms as he stood to accept it.

"Yeah, _Tobias_. Time to get back to _work_." Miguel said it with a wink, directed at him. Of course he did. Sometimes Miguel went to some serious contemplative place in his head, but other times it was really quite clear what he was thinking.

Beecher just rolled his eyes and dutifully hefted his box.

The Sister was like teflon when it came to innuendo, thankfully. She was good at carrying on without giving it any attention, not letting it deter her from focusing on saving minds and souls.

"Alvarez, I expect to see you for your session tomorrow. Have you given any more thought to coming to drug counseling? I really think you should attend, but it's not mandatory. Yet." She leveled her scary gaze at him, and Alvarez half held up his hands in surrender.

"Can't promise nothing. I'll think about it. I don't need it, though, Sister. Told you -- I'm clean and taking my meds and everything."

That was definitely her disbelieving reproachful look, but she clearly wasn't going to argue about it now.

"I swear. Doing good, Sister.' Miguel assured her.

"Uh-huh. You should probably attend confession, too." Her tone and expression continued to make it clear this was a comment on his possible lying ways. "I've told you, staying clean takes work. The counseling doesn't stop when you stop using. Group can help you stay on the right path if you are clean. Tobias attends, you know."

"This box is heavy. We should head back." Beecher was sort of grinning at the display, the small wickedly amused one that he could feel just tug the corner of his mouth, which probably made his eyes look fairly wicked, too. He was indeed trying to diffuse the situation and save Miguel, although that didn't mean he couldn't also enjoy watching the man defensively squirm a bit.

Also, the box was not at all heavy.

Sister Pete turned to go, rather than wasting words verbally agreeing with him.

"Yeah, time to go, man. You work hard, Tobias, now, you hear?" Miguel's voice was serious and steady, but in the most mocking way possible.

The second she turned, Beecher was not at all surprised to see those smooth fluid hip motions return.

Beecher contained his huff of laughter, keeping it inside just for himself. But he also wouldn't be surprised if the Sister could sense what was happening behind her back anyway.

"Tobias."

"Coming." Beecher was better at stripping all the innuendo from his voice, and merely sounding dutiful.

But he _had_ chosen that word on purpose.

Yes, Miguel had indeed gotten what Beecher had done there. It earned him a flash of a wicked grin, before Miguel covered his mouth with his loose fist, clearly keeping his own laughter hidden away just for them now, too. 

It was the last thing he saw of Alvarez as he turned to follow the nun.

It was going to be difficult to get those thrusting, tiny blonde bent-over-the-desk images out of his head now, wasn't it?

Oh well.

Better than the usually deeply unpleasant ones that floated through.

Maybe Alvarez's dirty mind was starting to influence Beecher's own.

He listened to the steady beat of footsteps on stone. His and the Sister's, different and not making any sort of rhythm together. She may be quick, but wee she was. He had to slow and shorten his strides to stay with her pace.

She wasn't chatty as they walked the halls, probably because she was thinking of so many other things. She was a fairly busy woman, it came with the dedication. She left him to his thoughts, dirty and impossible.

He could stop the images, focus on other things. But apparently, his mind wanted to focus on Alvarez still. Him in reality, not in amusing unbidden images in his imagination.

That feeling, in Tobias's gut, which wasn't amusing at all, as he'd thought of a hand on his mouth and breath on his skin.

Impossible? Right? It was impossible. 

He had not been in a closet. He had never felt anything for men until being sentenced to this torture chamber. And the things he _had_ felt here were brutal. Revolting. If flesh could crawl, Tobias would have none left. His very bones would've scattered to the corners of the earth.

Unfortunately, impossible meant nothing to him now. He couldn't even quite grasp the concept anymore. He had been faced with previously impossible seeming occurrences, one after the other, that he had to live through. Keep breathing. Keep moving. Accept the impossible horror, because it wasn't going away.

He was not supposed to be destroyed by the law. The thing he dedicated his life to knowing and using, like he was its master. It was not supposed to turn on him and throw him into hell.

His life had become a string of things he never could have imagined. Things he never could have even conceived of happening to him were his entire world now. His unreal, impossible, shattered world.

His flesh being burned with searing pain, being forcibly taken and owned.

The taste of leather and dirt under his tongue, licking with humiliation and debasement.

Turning to heroin, snorted off of pale skin.

Biting through flesh. _Shitting on a person._

There was no normal. No impossible.

His entire being was unmoored in terrifying possibilities. Untethered. Any number of similar words and sensations that meant he felt lost and adrift in a vast unknown.

Impossible? What did that even mean?

He could be a victim of unspeakable horrors.

He could be an unspeakable horror.

He was a murderer.

He had a dick up his ass. More than once.

He had killed a little girl.

He had taunted and manipulated a monster, been gleefully driven to do it even, disregarding his own future safety for the vicious pleasure of revenge.

He had killed a little girl. Wiped her right off the face of the earth, without even thinking or meaning to.

There was no impossible, and the possibilities were sickening.

Generally.

This one, though. Feeling the warmth of human connection again out of the blue, in this hell of unreal reality? Not just warm companionship, also usually nonexistent in here, but the fleeting hint of some other kind of warmth as well. The kind that settled lower and sparked along his nerves, causing him to remember casual touches. Slender, calloused hand on his mouth. A voice rasping so close he could feel it, too. Well, this previous impossibility may have been just as insane and hard to understand, but it wasn't twisted and sickening at least. With a man. Objectively handsome. (And possibly not so objectively, for Tobias, it was starting to seem.) A younger man with smooth caramel skin graced with tattoos that Beecher had started to trace with his eyes at times, idly wondering about them. If they were unfinished or just purposefully sparse. A man with fathomless eyes, that could drown you quietly in understated sorrow, or light up with a spark mischievous and sly. A man who admittedly, would not take any of these fleeting thoughts well were Tobias to ruminate on them out loud around him. Had Tobias noticed these things before? Felt them? Not consciously, he didn't think. The strange companionship wasn't really new, but the rest was. Maybe it had started surfacing with Miguel reaching out to cover his mouth to stop him from singing, a thoughtless touch they had both apparently not forgotten. Or maybe it was death coming so close to Tobias yet again (his plan had not been without a multitude of risks), or maybe it was something else. Several things, possibly.

Alvarez wasn't just _a_ man, any more than anyone was. He was _Miguel,_ who Tobias sort of knew, as much as you could sort of know anyone. He'd learned a few lessons about that, too. If a person could never know who they were themselves, or what they were capable of, how could anyone else, really? Still, he knew enough that he felt something like comfortable with him, something like _himself_ with him, which was rare these days. Maybe it was impossible. The strange feeling, and the companionable ease. But, well, it wouldn't be the first so-called impossibility. Or the hundredth, since he'd made a fatal mistake and blown his comfortable, possible, normal life to pieces, only to find just how much of himself he didn't know existed was hidden in the rubble.

He did know one thing -- Alvarez was something like a friend. Yes, also impossibly, but more so this time given that friends did not appear to be much of a thing in here in Beecher's experience. No, not even _something like_ , maybe. Maybe just someone who was becoming an actual friend, albeit a new version that Tobias had never experienced before. For one thing, his old 'friends' had largely abandoned him, here, discovering all the new parts of himself they would've been horrified by. So, how close were they to begin with, anyway?

Tobias was also all too familiar with certain thoughts, lustfully appreciative, being harbored by others in here for himself. He did not want to do that to Miguel, to entertain thoughts like that lurking in his brain directed at the man. It felt dirty, almost, and not in the enjoyable thrusting way. It would feel like he was hiding something from Alvarez, almost. Something Alvarez would possibly find unsettling. (Or possibly not, given that he did seem very aware of how attractive he was and rather accepting of other's eyes on him, despite harboring his own issues with his ego and pride after the unfortunate loss of his child.)

Either way, that -- that secret objectification, maybe? -- Tobias was certain he did not want to do. Miguel was not tattooed skin and dangerously cut muscles, a devilish smirk, warm breath, and a firm hand. Or at least not just those things. He was a person who was _not_ horrified over the man Beecher was discovering himself to be. One who would miss that man if he disappeared in the night.

A friend, yes.

The prison was large, and the halls were surprisingly disorganized and twisting in places, but one did tend to reach their destination eventually.

As they reached Sister Pete's office, her busy mind started marching tasks out of her mouth, and it was time to work. It would be nice, and banal, and the most normal part of his day.

Also, her desk was nothing like Warden Glynn's, so hopefully those images would stay away.

Maybe O'Reily should be worried about Beecher's libidinal levels.

But no, it wasn't really sex that was distracting him. 

It wasn't that, at all.

***

End

**Author's Note:**

> Another Rambling Note: Beecher's view of how much these two have talked being a bit different than Miguel's is on purpose, and not just me being inconsistent and forgetful for once. ;) I've mentioned that Alvarez is an unreliable narrator when it comes to how often he's crossed paths with Beecher, since he's downplaying it in his own mind. (Also, he's sort of ignoring the fact that he's not just coincidentally happening upon Beecher a lot -- he's been seeking him out occasionally, without admitting to himself that's what he's doing.) I also wouldn't doubt O'Reily's observation that Miguel has been watching Beecher. It's mentioned on the show that it takes nearly a year after the riot for Emerald City to reopen. Even factoring in Beecher's time in the Hole, and Miguel's time recuperating in the hospital ward, I'm assuming in this series that they both spent months rattling around in Unit B at the same time. (I've only written one thing set during that time, but just assume it wasn't the only time they talked like that. The dick-biting question mentioned here, and all the other things Beecher knows about Miguel come from other moments between the two that I just haven't written out. I may get around to some more set during their Unit B time, but I may not.) Most of this series set in Emcity so far takes place soon after it reopened. It hasn't even reached the 'Great Men' episode yet, canon-event wise. So they're actually talking pretty frequently even here, since the last couple parts took place here over just a few days/maybe a week or two at most. There's an uptick in Miguel going to Beecher due to his stress from the Glynn thing and Beecher almost being assassinated by Nazis, but even before that, it can be assumed they were 'running into each other' a bit more than Alvarez is admitting to himself. In other words: trust Beecher's opinion of how often they chat, rather than Miguel's.


End file.
